


Picnic in the Nemeton's Woods

by Arvak



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Like you only know because why else would they spend time together :P, M/M, Nemeton, Picnic, Subtle Established Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22767631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arvak/pseuds/Arvak
Summary: -A new way to conceptualize the Nemeton and how it lives-The Nemeton is dead, and Stiles is feeling its loss... but Peter has a different idea.-Peter grabbed the shovel and chipped at the dead and quickly decomposing tree stump that used to be a subject of great wonder... Now, it was only just a hunk of dying cells, awaiting to be reabsorbed into the ground."Yes, the Nemeton's dead - for all intents and purposes, at least - but that doesn't necessarily mean it's entirelygone," Peter said, grabbing some moss that was still alive on the trunk, bringing it over to the curious boy on the picnic blanket, and setting it in his hand. "Through their roots, plants share the water that travels through every one of their cells with any plants nearby... Perhaps that system isn't limited only to water or chemicals... Say, it allows for magic, perhaps...? Do you really think all the Nemeton's magic just... disappeared when it died?" He cocked his head. "Hmm? Whose to say all that magic didn't just spread into the plants around us?"
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 108





	Picnic in the Nemeton's Woods

Stiles' entire body burned. His hands shook, his thighs were weak. Sweat coated every inch of his skin, dripping down in slick streams in some places. Very, very unfortunate places. It was disgusting and uncomfortable. His ass cheeks slid together and it was one of the worst feelings he's ever experienced, and he's been quite literally strung up and tortured before.

He lifted his arm and jerkily wiped his sleeve against his face. "I can't do this." He was dying. He couldn't continue any longer. "I can't go on." His days were limited, as is the promise of life, and his number was up. He was approaching his deathbed, and... it was dirty.

Seriously, there was a lot of dirt, and it was _everywhere_.

"You're almost done, Stiles," Peter drawled from the side, hardly casting him a glance. "You'll survive."

Stiles groaned loudly as he heaved another large shovel-full of dirt out of the hole in order to bare a few more roots. His arms quaked and he whimpered as the thousand-pound shovel fell to the ground at his feet with a disheartening _plop._ Then, he heaved the shovel back up into the air and grunted as he slammed the sharp end of the shovel down on the roots beneath him with every ounce of his weight behind it. The thinner roots cracked. The thicker ones didn't budge.

He whined and panted with each soul-crushing, muscle-burning, back-breaking heave and slam. He could feel his heart losing strength. Could feel his lungs struggling to process enough oxygen to feed to his straining muscles. He could feel his body giving out on him. His systematic processes were in overhaul, pushed into fifth-gear in a four-speed that's 40 years old and still struggles to turn off once the key is out.

Once he could begin to feel his muscles turn into mush beneath his skin, he heaved the shovel once last time and left it wedged in the dirt between the roots to walk over to the makeshift picnic beside the stump.

"Your turn," he huffed, snatching the cool cup of water from Peter's hand and pressing the condensated plastic to his hot neck with a soft moan. He dropped down onto the blanket in front of him. Without word, Peter rose and walked over to the tree. Stiles cracked his sagged eyes open and watched Peter effortlessly slam that shovel down hard enough to send cracked pieces of roots flying through the air in several directions. "Are you kidding?" Stiles demanded while he watched an hour of Stiles' work be done in seconds. "Why didn't you just-... Why did _I_ have to do all the work?!"

Peter tilted his head over at him with an evil smirk. "You're always saying you wish you had more muscle."

Stiles' mouth fell open and he glared. Peter seemed _tickled_.

"Besides," Peter continued, going back to chopping at the roots and then tossing out the loose dirt, "This is _your_ project."

"Well," Stiles fell into a mumble, frowning down at his dirty hands. "If it even works."

Peter stopped and looked over at him, leaning on the shovel. "Deaton's already contacting that coven from Canada about seeds. And Derek is with Lydia and your dad making sure nothing drastic is happening elsewhere. " His voice was silky smooth, comforting and sure. Stiles closed his eyes and felt it graze over him like a velvet sheet over naked skin. _Dry_ skin, preferably. Somewhere less humid and less than 75 degrees, please. "Yes, the Nemeton's dead - for all intents and purposes, at least - but that doesn't necessarily mean it's entirely _gone_."

Stiles opened his eyes and looked up at Peter with a heavy expression. "Because planting a new tree in its spot with some stupid chant is going to just make the Nemeton reappear."

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed the shovel, going back to digging. Stiles watched him chop away the Nemeton's thick roots and thought he could feel the tree's pain. Never mind it being dead... Ever since the plague that no one can remember crept in through the stream of magic the Nemeton pumped out, the Nemeton's magic had been wounded, weakened, and eventually eradicated. The wood had turned wilted and rotted. Chunks were crumbling away from the base. He could no longer feel the soft hum of magic residing within. Like Peter said: the Nemeton, for all intents and purposes, was dead.

"There's nothing left to rebuild," Stiles mumbled mournfully. He shook his head with a dry scoff. "I had _just_ started like... building a _relationship_ with the damn thing." And now they were chopping it apart, removing it from the ground to attempt to replant a new one. Like what the fuck? That doesn't even make _sense_. If it was that easy to build a Nemeton, _everyone would be doing it_.

You know, aside from the billions of people who have no idea what a Nemeton is, of course.

"Stiles," Peter said, chopping away at the trunk. Chunks of wood fell at his feet, crumbling into decomposing mulch. "Remember that project you went on a five-day tangent about last month?"

"Well, there were like, five of those, so-"

"An enlightening insight into your teachers' unfortunate daily tasks, no doubt," Peter mumbled under his breath.

"I think Finstock deserves it," Stiles shot back.

Peter looked over at him with a raised brow, "No, I think it's you who deserves his relentless suicide runs." Stiles made a mocking face at him which was probably more humiliating than effective. "I'm referencing the plant one, specifically."

"Oh yeah, uh, multilevel plant communication from biosemiotic perspective."

"Mm-hmm." He went back to abusing the tree stump. "Trees and plants share information by chemical signals passed on through their roots." He stopped, reached down, and grabbed some moss that was still alive on the trunk. He set the shovel down and walked up to Stiles with the small clump of green moss sitting in the palm of his hand. "Through their roots, they share the water that travels through every one of their cells with any plant nearby," he continued, crouching down in front of Stiles.

"The water that traveled through the Nemeton," Peter lifted the moss in his hand in punctuation, "also traveled through this moss." He set it in Stiles' hand and rested his arm on his bent knee, looking the boy in the eyes. "And now that those roots are dead, their cells will die, decompose underground, and the plants around them will absorb their nutrients..." A small smirk pulled at his lips, and the gears in Stiles' overheated, overworked mind finally began turning again. "Perhaps that system isn't limited only to water or chemicals... Say, it allows for magic, perhaps?" A pause. "Stiles... A Nemeton is an all-powerful reservoir of magic that is practically impenetrable... Do you really think all that magic just... disappeared?" He cocked his head. "Hmm? Whose to say all that magic didn't just go into the other plants?"

He stood back up and Stiles stared up at him, in awe of the words leaving his mouth. "The Nemeton is all around us." Peter gestured to the woods surrounding them. "We don't have to do anything but give it a more confined place to call home again."

"You're kinda brilliant when you're not trying to be creepy and homicidal, you know?" Stiles said in lieu of anything else even relatively appropriate.

Peter smirked and continued hacking at the ground while Stiles petted the soft moss in his hand, imagining a little baby Nemeton sprouting up like a tiny little dancing Groot.

"I think a Weeping Willow was a good choice, by the way," Peter said over his shoulder. Stiles smiled. Their Weeping Willow sapling was currently waiting patiently in a hastily dug hole in the Hale House's yard until they have the room to plant it where the Nemeton was.

"Hopefully this time it'll stay whole once it grows." The Nemeton would certainly be a lot more impressive if it wasn't a miserable old stump. He could just imagine a huge magical Weeping Willow with its hanging green vines which flowered every so often. It would be a lot less creepy and intimidating that way. "I wonder how long it'll take to grow all the way." He assumed it would take _years_.

"Hmm," Peter hummed, and took a long moment to ponder. "Well... You never know with a Nemeton. The magic could latch onto the sapling and grow fifteen feet tall overnight. You never know... But even if it takes a few years..." He looked over his shoulder at Stiles with a smile. "I don't think any of us are going anywhere."

Stiles looked up at him with a tiny little grin. "Nah, I think we're all rooted here pretty deep."

"Well said," Peter complimented.

Stiles watched Peter rid the ground of the stump he'd long since gotten used to - had just recently actually befriending - but he didn't feel the loss like before. Not now that had the hope that maybe the Nemeton wasn't dead after all. The hope that maybe it was more... residing as a system rather than a singularity, at the moment.


End file.
